Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 22583 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 113(@200wpm)___ 90(@250wpm)___ 75(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 22583 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 113(@200wpm)___ 90(@250wpm)___ 75(@300wpm)
I scroll through the rest of her agenda. Every name and time are double-checked, links and call-in numbers triple-confirmed. The IT guy even has a sticky note attached to his time slot, which reads, “Possibly padding invoices. See attached spreadsheet for questionable line items.”
“Do you have a problem with authority, Ms. Hollister?” I say, and it comes out harsher than I mean.
She tilts her head, considering. “Not if it’s earned.”
And there’s the challenge. Not overt, but as clear as day.
I fold my arms across my chest and lean against the desk. “I run a tight ship here. If you can’t keep up or if you get in the way, you’re gone. No drama, no hard feelings.”
She nods like this is the most reasonable proposition in the world. “That’s my preference, too.”
We’re back to silence, the air charged but not uncomfortable. She’s not waiting to be dismissed, and I realize I like that.
“Fine,” I say. “You can have a six-week trial period. Don’t make me regret it.”
She offers her hand, not for a shake but more as a symbolic gesture. “Looking forward to it,” she says.
I hesitate, then take her hand, grip firm. Her skin is warm and silky with short, well-manicured nails. Electricity courses down my spine, reminding me of the pesky feelings she causes. She lets go first and I breathe a sigh of relief.
She collects her tablet, pivots toward the door, then stops. “You should eat breakfast before your seven-thirty. Sugar crashes make you snappish.”
She says it without inflection, and before I can retort, she’s gone.
I sit in my chair, staring at the closed door. I’m not sure if I want to fire her, promote her, or fuck her until we’re too tired to argue. And for the first time in weeks, the idea of getting through a Monday doesn’t sound like a punishment.
This is going to be motherfucking interesting.
CHAPTER 2
NATALIE
I’m busily rearranging the files on my desktop when my new grouchy boss strides past my desk and mutters, “Bring the agenda.” I grab the printout and tablet and hustle behind him. His sleek, cold office reminds me of an expensive plastic surgeon’s office.
He gestures for me to sit but takes the seat closest to the door instead of his giant desk. I wonder if it’s a power play, a test, or if he just likes being able to escape quickly.
“Go,” he says, not looking up from his phone.
I read aloud the list of items I've discovered that require further investigation. "There's a double entry for the software license fee," I announce, flipping through my own printout to the section marked with a bright yellow flag. The paper rustles as I turn it, highlighting the irregularities. "I cross-checked the invoice," I continue, "and noticed there's a fifty percent markup over the current market rate. I've already arranged a call with their account manager and have shared the detailed talking points with you."
He stares intently at the paper, his brows furrowed, then shifts his gaze to me, a hint of disbelief in his eyes. "How on earth did you even catch that?"
I offer a nonchalant shrug, a small smile playing on my lips. "I simply read the invoice."
The expression on his face is a fascinating blend of shock and admiration, his eyebrows lifting slightly as he processes my words.
Suddenly, his phone buzzes loudly, vibrating insistently against the wooden surface of his desk. He snatches it up with a swift motion, his voice booming as he barks into the line. With a sharp gesture, he holds up a finger to silence me, signaling that this conversation demands his full attention. As he paces back and forth, his eyes flicker back to me, and I feel something shocking and very unwelcome cut through me. Hunger for my grouchy boss.
The call ends and he sits again, silent, then gestures at the memo packet I prepped. “What’s in there?”
“Background info for the congressional call. Clips of news coverage. The mayor’s likely to bring up the contractor controversy, so I included the relevant statement from last year. And a quick readout on the city’s response to that ransomware attack.”
He flips through the sheets, faster and faster, then tosses them onto the table.
“Plus, I’ve highlighted the three clauses that need legal review. You could sign off now, but if you want less blowback, I’d wait until after the Congressional call.” I keep my voice level, even though I know he’s trying to catch me in some mistake.
He sits back, crosses his arms, and finally smiles. It’s a dangerous smile, the kind you only see on apex predators ready to pounce.
“You’re a lot better than the last PA,” he says.
I ignore the compliment. “I’d like to survive the first week,” I say instead.
He barks a laugh and shakes his head. “Good luck.” He says it like he means it.